Full disclosure: this post has nothing to do with the 2002 movie, Wolves in the Snow.
At the supermarket, the shrink-wrapped meat is so nicely packaged, so clean and neat, that it is easy to forget where it originates. We think in terms “chicken”,”pork”and “beef”, not”hen”, “pig” or “cow”. It is different for those who have lived or traveled abroad. In the butcher’s shop at an English village, I was confronted by the carcass of a lamb that the butcher was preparing to breakdown. In India, I went with my father to the live poultry shop – once- to get some chicken. So, though I do eat meat, I am uncomfortably aware of where it comes from and would like to avoid thinking about it.
It was therefore with bemusement to read of the L.A artist turned chef Craig Thornton who has a very popular supper club, Wolvesmouth, at the Santa Monica Museum of Art. Thornton wants dining experiences at his club to be ” hyper-immersive” and his menu features a dish called, you guessed it , “Wolves in the Snow”. It’s components include grilled venison, preserved blackberry, fried moss and pine gelee and, splattered on a white plate, they are intended to evoke the aftermath of a wolf attack on a deer. He succeeds in his intention, no question, but is this what a diner wants to be reminded of while he is tucking into his food ?
Not this diner. I will not be visiting Wolvesmouth, ever.